Inevitable
by Child of Loki
Summary: AU POST-DAY 6 What if events had played out only slightly differently? Six months later, Nadia Yassir finds herself caught between two men. Nadia/Milo, Nadia/Doyle
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**24**_** or its characters**

**Author's Note: Don't get me wrong, LOVE every minute of this show. And adore the angst/drama of Nadia, Milo and Doyle as it plays out in season 6, including Milo's death and Doyle's being blinded (wouldn't have TPTB done it any other way). But my brain couldn't help wondering about the vague allusions to a love triangle. Being as it was less than a full day for it to play out, it couldn't achieve its full potential. Thus for the sake of this fic, I've done a _what-if...?_**

**Universe: Post Day 6, if the events had only been slightly different… Milo wasn't shot in the head, Doyle wasn't blinded…**

**Summary: AU Post Day 6... Six months later, Nadia finds herself caught between two men. Nadia/Milo, Nadia/Doyle**

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><p>It was going to be one of <em>those <em>days. As if the headache wasn't indication enough, there was that knot deep in her guts, one of cold dread. People would be hurt. That was not only a certainty, but the best possible outcome, especially if it were the terrorists rather than her own people (but God help her, it would be the best outcome even if CTU sustained casualties). The alternative made bile bite at the back of her throat. If they failed, people, innocent people, would die.

Nadia Yassir tore herself away from the report on their dubious informant. The man's intel had proven entirely solid, his commitment to stopping the homegrown terrorist cell undeniable. However, he was severely paranoid, refused to meet any CTU agent or government official face-to-face, and was impossible to track (not for lack of trying on their part). He could've simply been playing along, setting up a trap, a distraction to allow the insane militia group to carry out whatever attacks they had planned.

But how could they know? How could _she _know?

It was ultimately on her shoulders. Her responsibility. Her decision as director of the Los Angeles Counter Terrorist Unit. A job she still did not feel qualified for, even after six months. Six months since she'd been appointed Acting Director by Bill Buchanan, six months since that day from hell. She wasn't about to jinx herself by even thinking it, but even this day that found her filled with foreboding could not turn out that bad. Numerous good agents, innocent people, and terrorists alike had all perished that day. Her boyfriend, Milo Pressman, at the time just a coworker and friend, had been shot in the leg and almost bled to death when a commando unit seized control of CTU. The current head of Field Ops, Mike Doyle, had narrowly avoided a direct blast from an explosive device during a trade-off. They would have been just two more deaths amongst thousands that day, yet she would've felt them more profoundly, the guilt of them lying solely at her feet.

She shook her head but could not dispel the negative thoughts. Had Buchanan been plagued by such worries when the role was his? He always had seemed so controlled, so put-together, so eminently in charge and confident. Nadia felt a complete mess, entirely incompetent and incapable of making the necessary decisions. Always she wavered, the options and the consequences circling over and over through her mind until the edges blurred and the world appeared a blinding tempest.

Nadia stood, rubbing the tense muscles of her neck. With a deep breath, she began to give herself a silent pep talk. Division had approved of her, had decided to make her permanent director rather than replace her. Doubtless, the recommendation of Bill Buchanan had gone a long way, despite whatever disfavor he had garnered with Washington. And if he thought she could run CTU, then she could. And she had. And done well, too. They'd preempted three bombings and a plot to release anthrax in a shopping mall, and broke up a terrorist cell. All minor incidents in the big picture, but accomplishments to be proud of nonetheless.

And she couldn't have done it alone. What if Milo or Mike had been killed that day? Honestly, she relied heavily on their skills and support. Not so much as to leave doubt as to who was in charge, but they were essential to her team. The O'Briens as well...

Nadia wandered over to the side of her office where the wall of glass overlooked the main floor of activity for the Counter Terrorist Unit. She looked down on her people, busy like bees in a hive. Good. They worked efficiently. And primarily without complaint, which was a feat given the high stress, high stakes nature of the job.

Milo was setting up the comms end for the operation they were about to undertake, retasking satellites and securing frequencies, establishing contact with local LEOs. A few stations away, Chloe and Morris O'Brien sat side by side, their fingers flying over keyboards as they scoured databases for all pertinent data. Specifically, the execution of the raid required schematics of the building they believed to be the militia group's base.

Nadia sighed.

_Was the man raised by wolves?_

It seemed to be the general consensus about Agent Doyle, given his curt, often impolite behavior and tendency to use physical means to assert his dominance in a situation. Nadia knew better than to assume he had no manners whatsoever, but whether he chose to ignore them or lacked them entirely, the result was the same; an extremely terse man who rubbed most people the wrong way. Somehow, she had developed some sort of friendship with Mike. Perhaps, it was that friendship which allowed him to function, nay, fit in, at CTU Los Angeles. In the beginning, Nadia had frequently served as the buffer between Mike and the rest of their team. Many would question whether it was wise to keep a man who couldn't 'play well with others' in an environment that required intense levels of team work. But he was undeniably one of the best at his job. And she valued him highly.

There were still times, however...

Currently, he was prowling about like said wolf-man, hovering over Morris and Chloe's shoulders as they worked, pressuring them for results. Even at a distance, Nadia could see the displeased expression on Chloe O'Brien's face. Normally, the tech was capable of tolerating a lot of shit, but the pregnant woman's fuse had been quite a bit shorter as of late.

Nadia picked up her phone and dialed Morris' extension.

/Morris O'Brien./

"Hi. It's Nadia. Could you please tell Agent Doyle to come up to my office to discuss tactics for the raid."

/Will do, love./ She could hear Morris relay the message.

"And send the schematics to my computer when you get them."

/You got it./

Doyle was already heading towards her office, but Morris lowered his voice as he raised his eyes to find Nadia, saying, /Thank you. I thought Chloe was going to implode. She's been quite tetchy. You know. Hormones and the like. Not that Agent Doyle wouldn't be enough to set anyone off... Do you happen to know by any chance whether Agent Doyle was raised by wolves?/

Nadia suppressed the laughter threatening as the man whose heredity was in question knocked at her door. She motioned for him to come in, wrapping up her conversation with Morris.

"Thanks, Morris. I'll look into that."

"Look into what?" Mike Doyle asked. His eyes took on that all-too-familiar suspicious edge. Some might find it odd, for on the surface the man was all the consummate soldier, appearing to follow orders and get the job done without questioning. But Nadia had discovered Mike to possess a significant curiosity, which drove him to pry into almost everything around him.

"Nothing." She failed to kill the smile threatening and said nothing further. Mike had cocked his head slightly to the side as he studied her, a rather canid trait that made her fear that giggles would escape her.

"Nothing relevant to the mission, anyway," she said, finally in control of her tickled funny bone yet still unnerved as she always was by his piercing gaze.

"Just concerning my upbringing by a pack of feral dogs?" he asked. Nadia was unable to catch herself and her eyes grew wide with surprise, her cheeks turned hot with embarrassment. She averted her gaze.

"Or are wolves responsible for me, now?"

There was something lighter in his tone than his usual business attitude that drew her attention back to his face. She smiled in relief. Mike wasn't smiling himself, per se, but there was that expression that she had come to recognize as one in which a smile was almost threatening to make itself known.

"You tell me, Mowgli," she said. It didn't earn her a smile, but his eyes brightened with amusement, which was enough to please Nadia. She hadn't expected to get a smile from him. He never smiled.

"Shall we?" She sat down at her desk, and Mike pulled up a chair as he always did when they reviewed tactical operations, reports, security protocols, interview files and interrogation reports.

The light exchange had made Nadia feel much better. However, as soon as they began discussing the situation, that terrible dread sunk its claws into her stomach once more. When Morris called to let her know the schematics were on her system and she got a look at the militia building, her nerves only got worse. She printed them out for Mike and he spent several silent minutes pouring over them. When he finally announced his tactical plan for assaulting the building, Nadia felt dread's claws _squeeze._

"It's a suicide mission for whoever breaches the front door," she said. She knew who would be taking up that task, and she didn't like it. But she could not override his decision. Technically, she could. She was the director. But there was no logical basis for it. And Nadia had to admit she'd only be doing so out of concern for a friend.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Forget feral wolf man. Mike Doyle was a rock.

"There must be a better way." She studied the building plans until her eyes burned. Front door, boarded up windows, no roof entry, no cellar entry. By the time the windows were breached, a matter of seconds, they could scatter or set off devices, commit suicide, who the hell knew. They needed a distraction.

"I'm open to other options, but short of a missile strike, there's no clean way to take the building. And since we have no clue as to the extent of their plans, we need to take at least some of the militia alive."

Unable to speak, Nadia nodded her head. Why was she having such a hard time with this? She was doing her job. Mike was doing his. They were protecting the innocent, a noble and necessary undertaking. However, the thought of him being injured or killed nearly paralyzed her. How could she continue to do her job without him? The words were pressing to escape her mouth. _Does it have to be you? _But she managed not to ask the question, to beg, or plead. It took her literally biting her tongue.

Unable to sit still for the building nerves, she rose from behind her desk and began to pace, absently rubbing at her neck and pinching the bridge of her nose when the headache pulsed towards migraine. Nadia didn't notice how intently the man was studying her until he had risen to his feet and said, "Take off your jacket."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to stare at him incomprehensibly. Concern in his eyes melted into that softer near-smile of his.

"I'm not coming on to you," he said. She smiled. Since Mike seemed to never let anyone in, their close friendship had always made Milo jealous and some others suspect deeper feelings. Admittedly, Nadia could see how the lack of frigid treatment by Mike towards her could be mistaken for affection or romantic interest, since he treated most everyone else with cold austerity.

He reissued his command, and motioned to the chair he was standing behind.

"Sit."

More than a little bemused, she obeyed. He had the kind of commanding presence that made it hard to do otherwise, even when she did not want to do so or was extremely pissed at her supposed friend and feeling rather defiant. Now she was solely anxious and confused.

"You have a tension headache."

It wasn't a question. Did he mean to do something about it? Such as making her sit down and relax a moment. Did he know how utterly disturbing it was to have him standing, looming behind her, even though she knew she had nothing to fear from him? It was anything but relaxing.

There was a tickle of cold air as Mike brushed her hair off the back of her neck to rest over shoulder. And then she felt his fingertips on her skin, a warm contrast to the cold air that had given her goose bumps. A shiver ran down her spine as his fingers passed over her flesh, searching for what, she could not guess. His thumbs worked their way up the muscles in the back of her neck and came to rest at the base of her skull, his fingers wrapped about her slender throat. The contact conjured a memory that seemed much more a strange dream for all that had happened since then. Mike Doyle had had his hands on her neck before. Come to think of it, he had not touched her since. No friendly pat on the back, no tap on the shoulder. No offer of a handshake.

She felt the large, calloused pads of his thumbs press into her flesh, sending a stinging jolt of pain through sore muscles. She flinched.

"What are-?

He shushed her, holding her still with his strong hands. Large hands. Well, not so large, she supposed. Overall, Mike Doyle was only of average height and build. It was Nadia that was abnormal. She had always hated being so petite. The majority of people never intended to intimidate her, but it was a default that she constantly was aware of their superior size and strength. A small person was always aware, in the back of their mind, that they were potentially physically at the mercy of so many of their fellow human beings. And Mike Doyle was physically intimidating by nature and cultivation.

It had only taken one hand for him to grab her by the throat and choke her during that interrogation. Both of his hands were on her now, and yet she was not afraid like she had been that day. She trusted Mike implicitly. He would never hurt her. Not without cause, anyway. That day, there had been evidence that she was a traitor, as wrong as it had turned out to be. Now, she wondered even if there were piles of evidence against her, he'd be able to do what he'd done again. For her part, she could never again accuse him of the things she had that day.

The tension that had her wound tighter than a spring seemed to ease as he pressed unrelentingly into the flesh of her neck.

"Pressure points," he said. "Capable of giving pain. And relief..." He cleared his throat, adding quietly, "...and pleasure."

Nadia would've harassed him about learning whatever brilliant technique he was applying to her neck just to get women into bed. However, said wondrous touch was melting away all tension, and apparently resistance and ability for thought as well.

And then his hands were gone. Her skin grew chilled once more for the loss of his body heat.

"Better?" he asked, moving around to crouch before her.

When had she closed her eyes? She forced them open. Mike was looking amused but primarily concerned. He reached for her hand, and began to massage it, pressing at a specific spot near the base of her thumb. It felt _so_ nice. But it wasn't right. She felt all warm and content and... Mike shouldn't be touching her this way. He didn't touch her at all. He...

There was quick knock and her office door creaked open.

"Nadia, do you...?"

Milo's voice trailed off, but it was enough to make her start. Mike's expression was unreadable, but Nadia didn't want to turn around, didn't want to see the look on her boyfriend's face as another man caressed her hand. She tugged her hand away, and Mike willingly released it, rising to his feet and excusing himself. She did turn around in time to catch Milo glaring at the field agent's back.

_Damn._

And the two men had been getting along so well... Nadia had been attending conferences at Division for the past couple weeks, as entirely new security protocols were being established throughout the network. It was a tricky situation to leave CTU. Under standard operating procedure, she would've put Milo in charge while she was absent, except for his past animosity with Mike Doyle. Normally, the last word to describe Milo was petty, but she had a feeling with the way Mike could irk people, Milo would wind up using his authority to assert some sort of dominance over a man he sometimes viewed as his rival. And that would only serve to get Mike's hackles up. Instead, she had left them each in charge of their branch of CTU, to report to her when decisions fell out of their separate purviews, and prayed the fistfights would be kept to a minimum. Just in case, she had tasked Chloe and Morris to keep an eye on the pair. They had reported back that the men had 'gotten on swimmingly', better than usual. Chloe observed in her blunt way that with Nadia gone, they didn't have to compete for her attentions.

But that wasn't true! Milo had her attentions (in the appropriate setting, outside of work). Mike did not desire them. And this was not the time to be concerned with such matters.

"Milo, don't," she said. He closed his mouth. "We have a violent militia cell to deal with right now."

He nodded, but looked no less peeved as he carried on with the inquiry that originally led him to her office.

The tension seeped slowly back into Nadia's neck.

**TBC…**

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><p><strong>AN: Are my ship proclivities already extremely apparent? **

**A/N2: I know my obsession is rather late, but maybe there's others out there who'd be interested in this tale?  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The halls of CTU had never seemed more labyrinthine. They were all the same mindless, drab gray scheme of stone and paint, and they twisted and turned and carried on forever. She would never get there. The anxiety in her stomach would never be alleviated. Her life was some sort of purgatory of dread, guilt, and fear.

And then, somehow, miraculously, she was there, standing at the doors to Medical. What would she find? Would she be directed to wait outside the surgery door as Mike Doyle fought for his life? Was it just a flesh wound? The cursory report from the field agents simply stated that he'd been injured.

Nadia had all but ran down to Medical when they brought him in.

She took a deep breath, focused on steadying the tremor in her hand and entered the clinic. A sigh escaped her when she saw the object of her concern was on his feet. And then she quickly turned her back.

"Sorry. I should have knocked."

He had just finished fastening his trousers and was reaching for his shirt. It shouldn't have made a difference. What was a little bare skin between friends? Yet she felt her cheeks flush at the sight of his toned arms and abdomen.

"I'm decent."

Nadia turned back around, still feeling the heat of shame in her face, now for being embarrassed in the first place. Because Mike Doyle had that damned amused twinkle in his blue eyes. He pulled a long-sleeved shirt on, obscuring the tee that had been hugging his body a little too snugly for Nadia's peace of mind.

What was going on with her brain? Well, _brain_ had little to do with it...

"Are you okay, Mike?" she asked. She had seen bruises, large darkening patches of purple discoloring his fair skin. And his right shoulder had been sporting a bandage.

"Nothing serious," he said, literally shrugging it off and then wincing. "Took a little fire."

She gave him an arch look.

"My vest bore the brunt of it, but one grazed my leg and I took one in the shoulder. Clean hit. Through and through. I've been cleared."

With that, Mike's face returned to his standard stony expression and he headed for the door.

Conversation over.

So, that's how he was going to play this?

She grabbed his arm as he brushed past her, effectively stopping him in his tracks. When their eyes met, she froze. She couldn't say the things she had wanted to say, she couldn't be angry with him, for the seeming disregard that her friend had for his own life. And she knew it wasn't necessary to speak as stormy blue eyes bore into her. She knew it was apparent in her face.

And in his, a faint visage of confusion, wordlessly asking her why she cared, even shocked by her concern.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Her quiet inquiry was belied by an edge of anxious uncertainty.

He nodded his head.

_Then why won't you talk to me? Why do you brush of my concern?_

Sometimes she wanted to strangle the man she called friend. She wasn't used to struggling so much to attain even a basic level of confidence and intimacy with a person. Nadia never seemed able to glean but the barest facts from him, the vaguest outline of his mysteriously complex nature. Yet, he seemed to ease her into sharing everything, every detail of her history and character. And equally he seemed to pick the thoughts from her head simply by observing her with those astute blue eyes of his.

He did so now. His look softened. Well, as soft as a look from Mike Doyle could be, which to Nadia, who knew the subtle variations in his stoic expression, was plenty enough to satisfy her.

"I'm fine. Really."

He squeezed her arm reassuringly, capturing and holding her gaze for a long moment. Sometimes Nadia wondered if he'd forgotten how rude it was generally considered to maintain such prolonged, intense eye contact. Doyle was a trained interrogator, and resultant from such habit, he seemed to be constantly evaluating and reading people, probing for their motives, feelings and thoughts, conveying his own intentions with equal intensity. In this case, Nadia felt comforted rather than unnerved by his unwavering gaze. For in it was conveyed his appreciation and acceptance of her concern, the understanding that their friendship was important to them both, that she should accept the risks of his job for he had.

He released her arm and her eyes, striding out of Medical like he hadn't risked his life a matter of hours ago, like he hadn't been shot, hadn't been confronted by an upset and irate friend, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all.

Nadia let out the breath she had been holding and shook her head as if it could dispel the confusion that arose from trying to comprehend Mike Doyle.

Dinner with Milo, tonight. A nice, quiet evening. That's what she needed. No complexity, no straining to understand the mind of someone that would not quite let her in. She knew exactly where she stood with Milo Pressman. And it was a good place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: No one's reading this, but I don't care because I'm having fun anyway… So why post this, you (non-existent reader) ask? Because maybe at some point someone like me will come along, read all of the dozen or so Nadia/Doyle fics and still have some hankering for more… You're very welcome, Theoretical Reader. ;-)**

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><p>Sighing contentedly, Nadia leaned back against a solid shoulder. Her stomach was full of a delicious meal Milo had prepared. She was warm and comfortable, curled up on the sofa watching some mindless television with her boyfriend. A good end to a stressful day.<p>

Except, Milo seemed less attentive than usual, more reserved. Something was on his mind. And Nadia was fairly certain what it was. But she really, _really_ did not want to get into it right then. She just wanted some calm.

No such luck.

Milo fidgeted, disrupting her cozy spot. They settled back in. A few minutes later, he fidgeted again. And then again.

Nadia sighed, and this time it was not a sigh of contentment. She sat up straight, and turned to face the current cause of her stress.

"What is it, Milo?"

"Nothing."

She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. Granted, he thought he was being kind to her by shrugging off what was bothering him. But this passive-aggressive behaviour was far more annoying than open tension.

"Is this about my friendship with Mike Doyle?" she asked, trying to make her tone as even and impassive as possible. Truth was that she was sick of this topic. She should be more lenient. Milo put up with her obsessive-compulsive practices, her tendency to be late for every single date, her gossiping school friends, and the fact that she'd still managed to avoid sleeping with him. On the other hand, the man seemed to have so few faults and annoying tendencies of his own. Unfortunately, jealously seemed to be the major one. And its suspicions had fixated on one man, who just happened to be their coworker and friend.

"I obviously walked in on something this morning," he said, his words clipped as if he were barely restraining his own frustration. "And it looked like a lot more than 'friendship', Nadia."

"Mike saw that I had a headache and he was trying to help me."

Milo scoffed at her. "By holding your hand?"

"Pressure point something or other," she said, trying to shake off the memory of the pleasant, calming sensation that engulfed her under Mike Doyle's ministrations. "It actually worked, too."

There was a silent moment in which Milo appeared to be wrestling with the green-eyed monster. The hard crease in his forehead eventually softened. He looked at Nadia with rich, dark eyes. She smiled. He was trying _not_ to annoy her...

"I'm being ridiculously jealous again?" It was more a combination observations and apology than a question.

"Why is it you keep thinking there's something going on between Mike and me?"

"Maybe it's nothing more than friendship on your side," he said. "But he..."

"What? He's nice to me?"

"Well, yes." Milo chewed his lip in thought for a moment. "Nadia, Doyle's not nice to _anyone_."

"You're friends, too, aren't you?" She was certain of that in their own way, the two men had developed something beyond just tolerance for the other. "Does that mean he'd harboring secret romantic feelings for you?

Mile laughed. "Not that I know of…"

"I know he's impossible most of the time," Nadia said. "But he's a good guy. You know he is."

Milo nodded.

"So is it so strange that I'd befriend him?"

"No. It's not." Milo smiled and pulled her close once more.

There. Conflict resolved. All was well with the world.

Then why did Nadia still feel uneasy in the pit of her stomach? It felt sort of like guilt and shame.

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><p><strong>AN: Some real drama up next. Needed this segue/build up, though…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who dropped my a note/review letting me know you're reading this. I appreciate it ;-) Now that we're done with my ego-indulgence, this chapter is where it gets juicy (and I know you totally already know where I'm heading with this fic, but it's the journey that counts, isn't it?)…**

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><p>"Nadia?"<p>

Normally, she would've been very amused to find an out-of-sorts Doyle. But at this moment, her mind was far too addled to appreciate the novelty. And she was slightly distracted -okay, severely distracted- by his disheveled appearance. His hair was tousled in a most uncharacteristic and becoming manner. He was clad in a form-fitting henley that drew her eyes down along his trim torso to where it lay half-tucked in the waist of rumpled jeans. She couldn't help but smirk when she noted his bare feet. Never in a million years had she considered there could exist a casual Mike Doyle, let alone one so very laid-back in appearance.

If he noticed her amusement over his unkempt state, however, it did not show as he bemusedly invited her in.

"What's going on?" he asked, turning to face her after closing the door behind her. Any notion she had about this being a different man than the one she had befriended evaporated at his curtness. Was he simply not aware that the polite protocol when a friend showed up on your doorstep was to see them settled in the kitchen or living room with some sort of beverage before the questions began. Perhaps, even some small chat. She could really use the time and banality of small chat to sort through her thoughts. But instead, Mike continued with his interrogation.

"Why are you here?"

That was a good question. And Nadia wasn't sure what the answer was, but she had always dealt truthfully with Mike Doyle. And not just because he could read her like an open book. She sighed. Well, at least some paragraphs were in a language he did not understand...

He stared at her. His eyes that had been a blue grayed by the haze of sleepiness grew sharper as they considered her and his brain stretched and shook off its slumber.

She had not planned on coming here. It had just happened. And it was probably best if she left. Before she had to actually think about the answer he was asking her for.

"I woke you," she said. "I'm sorry. I'll just go."

Nadia turned to do precisely that, but as she reached for the doorknob a strong hand clamped around her bicep. It tugged her around.

That damned piercing gaze of his. And the features of his face still lined with confusion, now edged with concern as well. It softened the hard line of his jaw, the stern set of his mouth. Nadia reached a hand around to grasp the base of his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his before he could question her again.

A moment of shock passed between them. But it was a mere fraction of a second before their bodies reacted to the warm presence of the other. She may have initiated it, but Mike perpetuated it, sucking her upper lip into his mouth. The bite of his teeth was a hard, sharp contrast to the surprising softness of his lips. And then there was a burning wave as his tongue passed over the assaulted flesh of her lips. His calloused hand cupped her cheek, simultaneously manipulating the angle of their mouths and anchoring her. Perhaps he was anticipating the flinch as his teeth scraped over her lips once more, this time settling upon nibbling the bottom one. Instinctively, she pulled away from the onslaught of sensation, to find that Mike's other hand had come to rest upon her back, large, strong, and so very warm that it seemed to burn her skin even through her clothing. Goosebumps jealously rose in various other places not availed of his body heat. And she melted into the embrace as his tongue parted her lips and she willingly opened to his explorations. Her own tongue sought his, her mouth and lips growing eager to learn the feel of him, the taste of him.

The taste... He had drunk coffee earlier, the earthy, bitter hints lingering in his mouth, accompanying the distinct heady taste that could only be his unique flavour. They continued to kiss, not bothering to pause for breath, not bothering to think beyond the sensations of their fervent embrace. She felt as if she were burning up from the inside. An internal fire more intense than any fever or sickness, but one that rendered her just as delirious. It was a feeling she'd never before experienced.

She certainly had never felt this way while kissing Milo... _Oh, damn!_

With a bit of struggle, she forced herself to remove her tongue from Mike Doyle's mouth and free herself from his tight, warm, _delicious_ embrace.

She stared at him, feeling her eyes grow wide with shocked realization. His hair was standing out even more rakishly for having her fingers twisted in it. His eyes, at first unfocused, sharpened and fixed on hers. They reflected her own confusion, and asked for explanation. One she couldn't give. Because what had just happened couldn't have happened, couldn't _ever_ happen...

"I'm cheating on Milo," she said, before bolting out the door for the calm, and comparably cold, quiet of her car.

Her forehead hit the steering wheel with an audible _thunk_, but she didn't feel the pain of impact. Nor did it clear her head.

What had she done?

Well, the taste still lingering on her swollen lips made it obvious. It had not been some strange hallucination, dream or fantasy. Even with as unlikely an occurrence as Mike Doyle kissing her dizzy was, it had been real. And she had been the one that initiated the encounter.

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Oh why was she so foolish? Why had, after leaving Milo's place, she ended up at Mike's door instead of her own? Why had he answered the door looking so damned adorably disheveled? Why had she kissed him? Why had he kissed her back, for that matter?

And why, oh _why_, had it felt so unbelievably amazing?

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><p><strong>AN: Tut-tut, Nadia. Now what are you going to do?  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: So… probably getting to the out-of-character level, but you know…**

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><p>Avoidance.<p>

If she had to describe her life at the moment, with one word, it would be _avoidance_. Even if she were allowed a sentence, paragraph, book, or library for summarizing her life at the moment, Nadia would still consign herself to that one word.

Avoidance.

Avoid thinking about the potentially fatal consequences of decisions she was forced to make on practically a daily basis as head of CTU. People could be, _were_ killed, because of the actions she and her people took. It wasn't pleasant. It would be debilitating, in fact, to dwell upon those consequences. And so she avoided them as best as she could, choosing to think about the positives instead.

All of her adult life, Nadia had avoided thinking about the affect her life choices had upon her family. She loved them dearly, but she knew her almost complete adoption of Western culture, and as such, seeming rejection for her heritage, hurt them.

And probably worst of all, the avoidance she had even avoided admitting to carrying out. She had been avoiding real consideration of her relationship with Milo, of her feelings for him. Why? The reason was obvious enough. She did not want to hurt him. And so she had given it time, thinking if only she allowed herself enough time, she would feel the same for him as he did for her. But how could she? They were barely more than coworkers (possibly almost friends, she supposed) when he kissed her, took a bullet for her, nearly died for her, and all (according to his brother) because he _loved_ her. Love? He hadn't known her then! Did he even know her now?

Well, that wasn't entirely his fault. She had remained closed off to him over the months, the dates, the conversations, the ever-increasing intimacy. She had excused the distance she maintained to her prying girlfriends, even to herself, as an attempt at taking things slow. But the truth was, now that she had finally faced what she'd been avoiding, Nadia did not feel even an inkling of romantic love for Milo Pressman. She liked him well enough. He was a great friend, attentive, honest, gentle and compassionate. But...

She had kissed Mike Doyle. And she had liked it. _A lot._

Technically, Milo was the better kisser. He kissed with finesse and studied technique. Mike had kissed her with, well, wild abandon. God help her, it sounded like something from a cheap romance novel. He had kissed her with such fervent need that the encounter had left her breathless with her head spinning. It had been sloppy, rough, intense. And the long-slumbering need had stirred deep in her belly, called forth by that overwhelming embrace. Milo's kisses made her feel faintly warm, her body responding, but never as wholly as it should were she truly interested. There was no spark.

Nadia had long avoided admitting the lack of chemistry between Milo and herself.

She could no longer ignore the dearth now that she'd been exposed to an abundant source of chemical reactions. A source of such heat, such devastating passion, she could not help but contemplate whether it was appropriate or not.

It was most definitely _not_.

And so she avoided Mike Doyle, thinking that without seeing him, she wouldn't feel the unwanted sudden flush of arousal as she recalled his touch. Unfortunately, she could do nothing to avoid the flood of recollection when her mind wandered aimlessly and lighted upon the memory, was pulled under and drowned by the deluge of feelings that accompanied it. That damned kiss.

That damned man.

Nadia was violently jarred from her brooding by a hand grabbing her arm. Another covered her mouth and stifled her outcry as she was pulled from the corridor through a door and into a dark room. A solid wall provided the end of her dizzying journey, but not painfully. In fact she found her back gently pushed against the unyielding surface, as if she were being set against it because she could not stand on her own. As the world stopped spinning and her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, Nadia recognized it as the observation room of Interrogation 3. And her accoster was Mike Doyle.

"What the hell, Mike?"

He did not respond right away, which was well enough considering she was having a difficult time getting her wits back together. When her heart resumed beating and she was no longer gasping for air, he pinned her with one of his most piercing gazes. Nadia's heart rate became agitated once more.

"What's going on?" he asked, making her feel like a terrorism suspect more than someone he thought of as a friend (or someone he would kiss in a way that made some sexual acts look prudish). It was unlike him to be so disrespectful, even when they disagreed professionally or personally. And especially while at work. When Mike disapproved of her actions, he tended to get very cold towards her, having figured out it was the most poignant reaction, the one that hurt her the most.

"I don't know wha-"

"Don't."

Nadia swallowed back her denial, her verbal avoidance. There was that intensity she often saw in him. Mike was not backing down. Rather, he was leaning in, the few inches of difference in their height a significant leverage against her. It was different than any of the intimidating stances she'd seen him take with suspects, more personal. One hand was placed on the wall above her head, the other held her arm firmly but not painfully tight. His face was mere inches from hers, and his eyes blazed.

"Tell me what's going on, Nadia."

She swallowed. Lying would be a very, very bad choice at the moment. But truthfully, she had no clue what was going on. The world was chaos and she was a complete emotional mess. She risked looking into the intensity of his eyes. They didn't hold anger, as she had initially feared, but definitely frustration. And primarily, they were... imploring. He was trying to search her soul for an answer.

But he already had it, didn't he? Because, deny and avoid as she might, Nadia already had the answer, too.

It terrified her, however, and all she could do was fight it. Desperately she clung to the precepts, the known quantities that had defined her life just a few days prior. Like they were a bit of wood keeping her afloat on a treacherous sea. Nadia Yassir was a level-headed, practical woman, director of the Counter Terrorist Unit in Los Angeles, dating a kind, generous man named Milo Pressman. She was not some sex-starved heroine of a trashy romance novel being torn apart by lust for a man whom had assaulted and terrified her on their initial meeting, whom since had earned her respect and had become her friend, but with whom she still had heated arguments that bordered on the physically violent.

"Did you have a fight with Milo?" Mike asked, snapping her back to reality... well, what was apparently reality despite her disbelief in the turn of events.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we're fine."

Mike's brow wrinkled with confusion. He sighed, the intensity ebbing out of him momentarily. When he spoke again, there was almost a desperate edge to his voice.

"Why did you kiss me?"

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

"Why did you kiss me back?"

They fell into silence, and then that damned severe gaze of his locked upon her once more. She held it, unwilling to concede, to run away and hide like she had been doing. Because, God help her, she once more felt the power of whatever it was between them. An attraction on a level she'd never even sort of felt before. Deep down, she had no doubts about it. But her stupid logical mind questioned every bit of her memory, of the sensations stirring deep inside of her.

"Kiss me again," she said. Mike's eyes widened slightly with surprise, and then they fell to her mouth. Her heart was racing, and she was suddenly extremely aware of his proximity, of his body trapping hers against the wall, of the heat of him. He seemed fixated by her mouth, struggling with himself before his eyes raised to meet hers once more.

"Why?" he asked.

"I need to know." She licked her lips in an attempt to bring moisture to her mouth that had gone so dry. His entire body tensed in response, as if he were barely restraining himself from doing precisely what she asked of him, and more, so much more. The thought of which excited and terrified her. Because if what had passed between them that night, in that kiss, was real, then the passion they could have was too powerful to contemplate. It would burn them up, from the inside.

"You felt..." It was as if he found the whole situation as ridiculous as she had. It couldn't be real. Lust was lust. Sex was sex. Affection and Love were something else. And epic passions were a thing of the imagination, of cheap romances and classic literature, of ballads and songs and movies. Not of real life.

"You felt it, too." It sounded like a whispered self-revelation. The power of it seemed to snap his restraint, and Nadia felt his body press uninhibitedly into hers. The solidity of him. The heat.

"Maybe it was just a fluke," she said. Her mind was desperately searching for solid ground, for an anchor against what her body, her soul, knew was imminent.

Oh, God. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts, the beating of his heart. And the inevitable pull of his flesh pressing against hers. His bulk was crushing her into the wall and yet her body begged to have him closer. She wanted him. Oh, God. She wanted him. She wanted the kiss they hadn't quite begun. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted his knee to part her legs, wanted him to push into her, to fill her till she thought she'd burst. To drive her relentlessly over the edge. And she knew that even then, it would not be enough to satisfy her. It would never be enough. Never. Not until they climaxed together. Over and over and over again. Not until her mind had been torn to chaotic shreds. Not until she was left as nothing more than tenderized flesh and raw nerves, writhing and shuddering beneath his touch. Not until her soul was stripped bare, naked and exposed to him. And not until he took it. Then, and only then would she be satisfied.

And the destruction of her only needed to be sealed with a kiss.

He tilted his head, his lips drawing so near to hers she could almost taste him. She whimpered pathetically in the long seconds that followed. But she would not kiss him first. Not this time. This time, she needed him to initiate it, to succumb to the passion she felt twisting inside of her, to know it was the same for him.

He straightened, stepped back from her. And the loss of his body heat was a chill so shocking she physically started.

She turned a confused, pleading gaze upon him. But she said nothing.

"I may be capable of doing some terrible things," he said. His tone was bitter and his eyes sad as he contemplated the truth of his words. He threw up his hands in sign of surrender. "But not this."

Nadia felt somewhat relieved even as she was saddened by the regret, the despair in his eyes.

"You're with Milo. And not only do I respect the man..." The corner of Mike's mouth turned up and his eyes took on a bit of their amused sparkle. "But somehow he's become a friend. And I won't betray him."

He pinned her with a captivating blue stare and his unspoken words were clear. _Not even for you._

Nadia swallowed hard. Her body was still begging for what it almost had, what it had lost. But she appreciated the display of loyalty typical to the man. It was one of Mike Doyle's defining characteristics, one she admired a great deal. And its appearance was solid proof that this was indeed reality and not some bizarre dream.

She nodded in acquiescence.

Instead of directly leaving as she had expected him to do, Mike stopped and turned to look at her. That smirk appeared, the one that rarely made itself known and was the most profound expression of happiness Nadia attributed to the man.

"If you're ever really available..." he said. "I'd love to pick up where we left off."

And then Mike Doyle did the most unexpected thing.

He smiled at her.

Not the reserved, barely there curl at the corner of his lips, but a full-on smile. It was a lopsided grin that tugged at her heart. Nadia gasped in surprise, its presence as shocking as if a unicorn materialized out of the air. She was thankful her back was still to the wall as she clutched at it for support when her knees grew weak. Because that damned smile was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. It transformed Mike's countenance entirely. It softened the hard, stern lines of his face, making him look insanely boyish. And she wasn't quite sure if she wished to scold him like the mischievous youth he presently appeared to be, or to rip off all his clothes.

Before Nadia could decide, however, he was gone, leaving her alone in the quiet, dimly lit room. Alone with the most confusing set of thoughts and emotions raging through her. She gulped in air like a person who'd been drowning. Without realizing it, she must have been holding her breath. She concentrated on resuming normal breathing before she even dared consider what had just happened. But it was most definitely something she could not ignore.

Well, Avoidance had certainly failed her.

She had to face the music. It was cruel what she'd been doing to Milo, leading him on for so long. He could've probably moved on by now if she had just sucked it up and told him how she really felt when she realized that she didn't love him, never would love him. It was shameful that it took her lusting for another man to see how the denial was hurting more than just herself. Hell, she had still been resisting the truth, even after her subconscious had her sticking her tongue in Mike Doyle's mouth. Did it make her a horrible person that she could not return such a good man's love?

Probably.

Look at the kind of love she was drawn to... It burned her up and drove her mad. There was no way she could have anything resembling a normal relationship with Mike Doyle. After only a single kiss and a tense, unsatisfying moment, there was a terrible, consuming craving roiling deep inside of her. If she didn't give in, she'd go completely insane. And if she did give in, it'd likely destroy them both. They'd probably end up murdering each other, if only emotionally.

One thing was for certain, though. That damned smile of his had sealed it. Nadia did not just want Mike Doyle's flesh. Not just his heart and mind and body.

She wanted his soul.

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><p><strong>AN: Am I melodramatic, or what?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: This took longer than I had intended to post. Probably because I'm not sure I like this bit, but… (Feel free to tell me that they're not in character. At least for me, I had picked up on a jealous thread in the canon characterization of Milo where Nadia was concerned, however.)  
><strong>

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><p>"Why don't you just hit me, Milo?"<p>

She was shouting. As a rule, Nadia hated shouting. Her voice, a bit low and husky for a woman, tended to crack at loud decibels. It was unattractive and a bit painful. And worst of all, it failed to get her point across when it went all squeaky and raspy. If she were at the point of desiring to shout at someone, she wanted them to damn well feel the force of her wrath.

"Or scream at me?"

The man had only become broodingly silent. He was obviously furious. And he had every right to be. But say so, for fuck's sake. Blame her, hate her. Just get it all out.

She paced about a bit, finally taking the kitchen chair across from him, where she had originally been sitting when she'd broken the news to him. She had taken a deep breath, and told him that they should no longer see one another romantically. He had not said anything, simply stared at her. He hadn't asked why. Which should've been a good sign, that he knew as well as her that it just wasn't working out. But he had continued to say absolutely nothing. She had proceeded to outline her reasoning, that she did not feel for him the way she thought he felt for her, that she had been in denial of the fact for a while, the fact that she would never feel that way. She had been cruel not to tell him earlier, to free him from the relationship so that he could move on with his life, find someone who deserved him.

He had said nothing. She had asked him to tell her what he was thinking. He had said nothing. She pleaded with him to accept her heartfelt apology, that this was for the best. He had said nothing. Only stared at her with dark eyes. Finally, Nadia had thrown her hands up in exasperation and jumped to her feet. And then she had begun to pace. Pace and sigh. Milo had leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on her. She could see he was clenching his jaw, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. Obviously, he was feeling something quite intensely. Yet he still had said nothing.

Nadia had snapped. She had purposefully antagonized him, letting her own frustration manifest as angry gesticulations and shouts. They needed this. To get it all out so that it could be put to rest.

"There's obviously something on your mind," she said much more calmly from her resumed seat across the table. "And no matter what happens, how you feel, how badly I've hurt you, I'd like to be your friend."

A huff of air denoted the first near-verbal noise the man had made. Unfortunately, she couldn't tell if it was in acquiescence to her assertion, a display of bitter amusement or denoted outright disbelief.

"You've always been a good friend to me," she said quietly. She sighed in defeat and made to leave her former boyfriend's apartment.

"Doyle."

She stopped mid-stride and turned back to face him. Her heart had skipped a beat at the mention of their fellow agent's name. Was it really that obvious? Well, Milo had seemed to know, even before she had, before Mike Doyle had. Or had it always been just an overactive imagination of a jealous man, picking up on the thread of chemistry between his girlfriend and the hardened field operative.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"No!" How little did Milo think of her? True, she had been wrong to lead him on, hoping she would grow to love him as more than just a close friend. But she had never sought out a romantic relationship with another man while she was supposedly with him. She was not some slut, taking whatever she could get from whomever she could get it!

She swallowed back the anger. For she _had _kissed Mike Doyle, hadn't she?

Taking a submissive position, Nadia crouched down before Milo, looking up into his grim face. Had all gone well, this wouldn't have been necessary. But too late now. She swallowed hard, steeled her nerves and confessed.

"I kissed him."

Milo's eyes flashed and he shook his head.

"I always knew he wanted to get into your pants," he said. "But I must have been stupid not to see you wanted him, too."

Nadia bit her tongue. Let him get it out. Maybe, just maybe they could salvage their friendship from this mess...

"What is it you like about Mike Doyle? The man's a psychopath, probably gets off on slapping women around in bed. Or is that how you like to be fucked, Nadia?

Oh, she certainly had gotten what she wanted. Milo's restraint had broken, and instead of seething slowly inside, it was pouring out in verbal abuse upon her. But this was too far.

She rose, and took her seat across from him once more, taking the moment to bite down the rage at being insulted in such a manner by a person whose opinion mattered to her. He was simply upset and hurt, lasing out, not understanding her perspective.

"You haven't heard me." Her voice was surprisingly quiet, detached. Where yelling or spitting insults back would've failed to garner his attention, the remote tone of her speech caused him to drop into silence and stare at her intently. His eyes were still dark and edged with anger, but he did not interrupt her.

"On the surface, you were the perfect, attentive boyfriend. But you never _really_ paid attention, did you?"

Nadia did not look away. It was imperative he understand the real reason why she was breaking off with him. It wasn't that Mike Doyle had made advances towards her. It wasn't that she was attracted to someone else. It was simply that she did not _love_ Milo as anything more than a close friend.

"Or, like me, were you just trying to ignore the fact that I didn't have the sort of feelings for you that I should've?"

They stared at one another a moment longer, and then they both looked away. The silence stretched on between them until Nadia felt it had been long enough for Milo to digest what she had said.

"Forgive me?" she asked, not even trying to hide the despair in her voice. He had to know that she had never meant to hurt him, that she had tried, really tried to make it work.

He took her hand and his dark eyes burned into her with an extremely unnerving intensity.

"Nadia, I love you," he said. "I don't think I'll ever stop loving you, even though..."

He didn't finish, but they both knew what he meant. _Even though she was leaving him. Even though she would soon be laying in another man's arms. Even though she was breaking his heart._

"But I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive you." He sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe, someday. Maybe never."

Her heart sank a little. Just because she didn't want to spend the rest of her life with the man, settle down and build a future with him, didn't even want to make love to him, didn't mean she did not care about him. She liked Milo, a lot. He was one of the best people she'd ever known. And he must hate her. How could he not?

"I take it that we can't be friends anymore," she said.

Milo shrugged. Just shrugged.

Nadia made it all the way home and crawled into bed before the tears came flowing over, streaming down her cheeks and wetting her pillow. She had hurt and alienated one of her closest friends.

And for what?

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><p><strong>AN: I've got a plot beyond the romance in mind, but have to set up some things first… This could be quite an epic fic, so stick around?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Needed a little more Nadia-Doyle bonding to add flavour to the physical attraction…**

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><p>The world seemed somehow much more complex and at the same time, much simpler. Mike Doyle had always seemed like a character in a classic comic book. A dark side, yes. But overall, a known quantity, unwavering and solid in his pursuit of justice. At this moment, the man looked more human than Nadia ever imagined he could.<p>

She almost smiled with the realization that she alone might possess the capability to recognize Mike's current state for what is was. Except, she found it rather disturbing. Interesting, but disturbing.

She had witnessed the man in a variety of states in the time she'd known him, most of which had occurred in the past week. A softer Mike Doyle was, while perhaps still strange, not a shock. But this was not the mussed, befuddled, appealingly cuddly creature that had answered the door that infamous night. Nor was he that adorable boy who had flashed her a smile to melt her insides. It wasn't even the confused, frustrated man whom had confronted her three days ago with her shocking actions.

No, the man she found brooding in a shadowed corner of CTU was a stranger to her. Well, not completely unfamiliar. Next to no one would detect it, but Nadia could read his extremely subtle shift in body language, a change ever so slight in the way he held himself that informed her of his preoccupation.

"Mike, what's wrong?"

He fixed her with a blue stare that would've sent ninety-nine out of any hundred people on their merry way.

Nadia furrowed her brow, the precursor to an outright frown. Mike was wearing his standard 'neutral' expression. The one meant to be unreadable.

And it was.

Yet she knew something was bothering him, something serious.

"Let's go to my office," she said. She didn't allow it to be an offer that he could refuse. Rather she adorned her commanding tone of voice. Even so, Mike Doyle _could_ refuse. And he'd been known to, leading to some very public, scathing arguments. However, this time he obeyed. Perhaps because he was, as he appeared to be, so very distracted by some unsettling thoughts.

Nadia hesitated only briefly, closing her office door behind them. She had made an active effort not to be alone with the man ever since that searing kiss. More so in the few days since she'd broken up with Milo. She hid her glances despite how often she felt her eyes drawn to the field agent. Her behavior was always professional in dealing with both her ex-boyfriend and the man to whom she bore some strange, feral attraction.

But this was a conversation that was not meant for others to hear. Maybe it was being ridiculously overprotective of the man, but she did not wish anyone to witness his vulnerable moment, even if it was only obvious to her. She left the blinds open, however, so no one could accuse her of doing something unseemly with the man whom she arguably very much desired to do something unseemly with.

Once the agitated agent had reluctantly settled into one of the guest chairs in her office, Nadia leaned back against the edge of her desk and asked, "So...what's bothering you?"

For a moment it looked as if he were about to do just as she feared he would; deny any such notion that he was deeply troubled. But apparently, he knew as well as she did that he'd been caught. Mike Doyle for some reason had opened himself up to Nadia. And resultant from such basic intimacy, she could read his subtle moods, as well as being able to see past the ones he blatantly broadcast -whether they were purposeful obfuscation or not.

So instead of shrugging off her concern, he met her studious gaze. For months, she had worked with the man. Yet she had barely attained the level of control not to start when she directly encountered that vivid gaze of his. Generally the unwavering blue intensity put one on the defensive, feeling exposed by its piercing nature. However, Nadia persevered beyond her initial urge to recoil, taking in the (_could it be?_) sorrow... and pain.

"I'm not making McDonough talk," he said.

Had she misinterpreted the turmoil and vulnerability she thought she'd seen in him? Was it just his pride hurting because he couldn't break the anarchist militiaman they'd captured in the raid last week? It was hard to reconcile a picture of insulted vanity with the self-less man she had come to know so well.

Mike shook his head upon discovering her critical look.

"You don't understand," he said. "I _can_ make him talk."

What was he going on about?

"But I'm not making him talk."

"Why?" The revelation had not clarified the situation an iota. If anything, it had her even more baffled. He couldn't mean... "I can't believe you sympathize with the bastard."

Again, Mike shook his head wordlessly. He was still holding back for some reason. Rising from his seat, he paced frenetically about her office. Not a difficult feat, since Nadia was prone to the occupation herself and had the furniture conveniently arranged for such circumstances. But however conducive the space was to such activity, shock struck Nadia dumb nonetheless. Never had she seen the unflappable man so agitated, not even whilst anticipating a dangerous field assignment or finding himself rendered helpless to resolve a situation. There were times his temper flared, but his confidence never appeared to falter.

Pushing him would be a mistake, so Nadia reigned in her rampant curiosity and nagging concern. She said nothing. Just quietly watched and waited while he battled his thoughts; each step, each twitch of muscle a reflection of some unseen mental barrage. She wasn't sure it was what had initially set his world awry that currently had him so agitatedly embroiled in self-debate. Rather, Nadia thought it very likely the current issue under consideration was whether or not he should tell _her_.

Finally the prowling creature came to rest. (She hoped not in preparation to pounce...) Having once more resumed the chair before her, Mike Doyle met her gaze with his ever-startling blue one.

The sorrow and tumult remained visible in the depths of his stormy eyes, but perhaps somewhat tempered by his decision to reveal, share, and possibly _ease_ his angst.

If anything could be said for her acquaintance with the often trying man before her, it would be that she had gained a patience she never quite seemed capable of previously employing. For Nadia continued her silence, hoping her eager stare did not belie her attentive, understanding outward pose.

"They say you die a little every time you take a life," Mike said.

For once, the implacable man blinked first. He broke the unbearable intimacy between them by averting his eyes. And Nadia was grateful. His pain had seemed to slowly pour into the depths of her through that captivating gaze.

"That's not quite true." His voice was low; distant and contemplative. It was an odd contrast to his usual self-assured timbre.

"It stays with you, yes. Changes you. But you don't remember their faces, like they say you do...

"I don't know. Maybe for some. But not for me. They fade with time, like most memories. Become vague. Not so vivid. Like an old photo. They're supposed to stay with you in technicolor, so they say. But..."

His eyes briefly sought her face, as he searched for the words. This was obviously not something he'd tried to verbalize before. The trust implied therein both pleased and terrified Nadia. She nodded encouragingly.

"I've killed people." There was a portion of regret in the statement, but no guilt. And Nadia understood enough of Mike Doyle to comprehend the way his conscience worked. He was sad that circumstances had required him to kill, but had no remorse for actions he'd been driven to taking.

"Even when you're so close to them that you can feel their breath on your skin, the heat of their body, look into their eyes... It's not _so_ terrible," he said, again looking at her with an almost pleading expression. Perhaps, he was actually concerned about her opinion of him. The opposite was true, but Nadia could not quite wrap her brain around Mike's valuing her good opinion as much as she did his. He was such a loner, and did whatever it took to do his job, popularity and sociability be damned.

"The life, the light leaves their eyes, but it's not... it doesn't destroy you. Because it was them or you."

Nadia nodded. She knew the type of situation, the only type of situation that would cause Mike Doyle to take a life; defense of his own or others.

"It's just as if they're there one moment and gone the next. The _whole _of them.

"There.

"And then not."

He shook his head, as if it might rattle the correct words around until they fell into the right places and became coherent.

"You haven't damaged them or destroyed them. Only sent them on their way," he said, and then added quietly as if he only meant to think it and not say it, not say any of it, "though many deserve far worse."

Unexpectedly, the disturbed field agent reached out and took her hand, startling Nadia. She did not pull it away. Because maybe he needed the contact to anchor him, his fragmentary thoughts.

"But, Nadia, when you _hurt_ someone... it's horrifying."

_Oh, Mike. _She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"When you... When we..." His jaw visibly clenched. "When _I_ interrogate -no, when I _torture_ people, I destroy them. I break them down, dismantle them, tear them apart. It's worse than killing them, watching them reduced to nothing but shreds of humanity. That's what kills you inside, kills me."

He let go of her hand and looked away.

"A little part of me dies every time I hurt someone, no matter how evil a person they are."

More than anything, Nadia wanted to pull the heartsick man into her arms. She wanted to hold him, comfort him, give him the human contact he seemed in desperate need of possessing. How much of himself had he sacrificed solely to protect others, to save innocent lives, to serve his country, for the greater good. And who in the world knew what he'd given of himself?

If she knew the man well enough to guess, and Nadia was now certain she did, Mike Doyle had never revealed his deep sorrow, his secret pain to anyone else. She couldn't contemplate his reasons for sharing this vulnerability with her, not at that moment, not when his heart lay exposed before her and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him, cradle him close to her, kiss his face and soothe his hurt.

But she couldn't.

Not here. It wouldn't be _appropriate_. She couldn't even _touch _him. Not that she gave a damn. Not that she wouldn't do so anyway. Just to let him know he was not alone. Just to let him know she cared. But Mike Doyle would not let her near. Even in his vulnerable state, he was as pragmatic as ever. In fact, he was already closing her out again, no doubt regretting his brief weakness in discussing something so personal with her while at work.

He almost made it to the door before Nadia recovered her composure enough to order him to hold on for a second. He turned to face her, all business once more.

"How long have you been at it today?" _It_ being the interrogation of McDunough and cohorts.

"Since I came on shift," Mike said.

That was what, ten hours ago? Damn. The man was determined for someone with such significant emotional reservations. Of course, 'detached' was probably his middle name. Well, she knew it wasn't. But it should have been.

"Go home," Nadia said. Mike looked as if he were about to protest but she cut him off. "We still have another day before Division transfers the 'People's Militia' out and another team of interrogators get their turn."

She could almost read his thoughts, the forthcoming arguments. There's something big brewing. Their team already knew the players, their backgrounds, their pressure points, were the best ones to press the prisoners. And while just a hunch, they all felt that the timing was vital.

Somewhat surprisingly, Mike said none of those things. He simply scoured her with one last piercing blue evaluating gaze, nodded and left.

Oh, yes. The man was most definitely feeling off kilter.

Nadia unceremoniously plopped into her chair. Propping her elbows on her desk, she put her face in her hands and tried to force the world back into its organized, sensible state with long, slow breaths.

She had liked that world. That apparently fantastical world of just...what, eight days ago? Really? Only eight days? Well, how long did it take for the universe to shift entirely, anyway?

But what a wonderful world it had been. Simple. Straightforward (more or less). She worked for the good guys. Still true. See, consistency. How lovely. They stopped bad guys. Also true. Great. She had a whole team of intrepid, stalwart people. Smart, technologically savvy people like Milo and the O'Brians. Brawny, badass people like Mike Doyle. Mike Doyle, her ass-kicking go-to man. Tough. Terse. Uncomplicated.

Nadia sighed.

So very complicated.

And she was helplessly drawn to the complications. Most would say it was not too late to avoid becoming ensnared. But God help her, she knew it was far too late. Because she was going to go to him.

As soon as this day was over, she was going to go to him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: More soon… probably the smut I've obviously been building up to… and then maybe some fun action/angst plot.**


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